


Make Your Mark on Me

by Nova_Cain



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Artist!Lance, Drunk Decision Making, Eventual Smut, Eventual relationship, Hunk is Lance's other platonic half, I came to write a fic, I just really wanted an excuse to give Shiro a prosthetic that he can tattoo with, I mean come on, I'm utter shit at tattoo related things, M/M, Pidge is Keith's closest friend and family, Shiro and Keith don't know each other, Shiro and Keith unrelated, Shiro runs a tattoo shop that also performs safe & affordable tattoo removals, THAT'S COOL SHIT, What the actual fuck, Why Do I Write So Much, a great possibility of angst, also, college AU fic, dear god help these children, didn't realize I was writing a fucking novel, fanfiction and fanart references, go on and judge me but you know you like it, i planned for this but not THIS SLOW, like they're both secretly fanboys in this AU, picking tattoos for each other, roommates au, should have mentioned this sooner but, slightly irresponsible college students, slower than slowburn, smut references, snail slowburn, tag updates:, tattoos work slightly differently in this fic, uuugh, writer!keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nova_Cain/pseuds/Nova_Cain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after a night of drinking and (possibly bad) life decision making, Keith wakes up in Lance’s bed with no memory of what happened, and a tingling sensation along his right shoulder. Turns out that sometime in the course of the night, Keith had actually thought getting a tattoo was a good idea. The only explanation that Lance offers is that they made an agreement (Lance insists it was a “sacred pact”) to design tattoos, ones that would reveal the deepest secrets they held, and give them to one another. As Keith gets over his initial shock, he comes to love the tattoo adorning his shoulder that stretches across to his shoulder blade, even if he can’t understand what sort of secret could be hidden in the image of a mechanized cat.</p><p>But what worries Keith is the fact that Lance refuses to show his own tattoo, which Keith has no memory of designing. And if his deepest secrets are anything to go by… well, Keith knows it could either solidify their tentative friendship, or shatter it completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What the Fuck, Me

**Author's Note:**

> Only your usual disclaimer: Nope, I do not own the characters of Voltron, all rights to their respective owners, etc. Please enjoy this work, which is only the humble fanfiction of a loyal and passionate fan.

 

 

 

* * *

Keith woke up to the sound of moaning and a hand splayed across his bare chest.

After a long moment of hangover-induced disorientation, he realized he was actually sleeping _on_ someone’s hand. It twitched, and Keith could feel that a whole arm was pinned under his bare torso. The warm (and equally shirtless) body of Lance McClain was attached to the arm and curled against his right side. Lance’s face was pressed against Keith’s ribs, and his hot breath ghosted across exposed skin with each moaning exhale.

_So that’s where that damn noise is coming from…_

“Can you shut up?” Keith’s attempt at growling was foiled by a dry throat that could only let out pathetic croaks. Lance tilted his face upwards and gave his roommate a pained glare.

“Can you get off my arm? I mean it’s not like I’ll be able to use it anymore thanks to your heavy ass, but I’d like it back just the same.”

Lance’s voice grated against Keith’s consciousness and he winced with every word. He complied with a grunt of pain, slowly rolling his body just enough for Lance to reclaim possession of his numbed limb without falling off the narrow bed. Keith settled back on the mattress and buried his face in a pillow, inhaling deeply. He sat up with a start two seconds later when he recognized Lance’s scent and the stark blue bedsheets. This was definitely not his own bed. As his mind swirled with pain and panic, Keith added in the lack of clothing and…

_Ah shit… we didn’t… did we?_

The owner of the bed grabbed Keith and slammed him back down, holding him against his chest.

“Stop. Fucking. Moving. You’re jostling the bed and my brains.” Lance’s lips brushed against Keith’s ear as he spoke. “Hangover, idiota. _Hangover_.”

Keith squirmed in his hold until he was on his back, then Lance swung his leg across Keith’s and pinned them down. As Keith heard and felt the rubbing of jeans on jeans, he melted into Lance’s arms with a relieved sigh. Lance chuckled against the side of Keith’s throat and nuzzled closer.

“What was that noise for?”

Keith tried to tell himself it was only his muddled brain that made him shiver even as his skin warmed from the contact.

“I’m still wearing pants,” Keith choked out. Lance sighed through his nose and his grip loosened by a fraction.

“Yes, congratulations. Despite my best efforts, you survived your first night of drinking with your chastity intact,” Lance said.

Keith let out a dry laugh that scratched at his throat and reminded him how nice some water would have been right now.

“Yeah, thanks for that. Glad to know I’m still myself after I night I don’t remember.”

Lance’s arms disappeared at that, and Keith allowed himself to sit up. _Slowly_ this time. Hangover be damned; as per his typical morning routine, he started working out whatever stiffness his muscles and joints might have, massaging his limbs until he felt he could walk to the bathroom without stumbling too much. Lance was reclined beside him, watching the process intently. Even though he tried to ignore him, Keith could feel Lance’s heavy gaze on his back, and only then became aware of a strange sensation that pricked at the skin of his right shoulder. Thinking it must only be numbness, he stretched his arm out and the sensation spread across to the shoulder blade.

“What the---”

“So you really don’t remember?” Lance interrupted, his voice amused but tentative. Keith slid off the bed and turned to look at him. Lance was gnawing at his lip, but Keith could see the smile lurking around the edges of his mouth.

“No.” Keith’s eyes narrowed as the pain and soreness along his shoulder became more and more persistent, clearing his mind. “What did you do?”

“Actually what you should be asking is: “What did _we_ do?” I honestly hope you like it, Keith, that’s all I’m gonna say.” Lance’s timid smile had turned into a flushed grin at this point. He rolled onto his stomach with a giggle and buried his face in the pillow Keith had been using only minutes before. Knowing he wouldn’t get anything more out of his obviously wacko roommate (they’d been through this routine before. Once the face was in the pillow, that was it. End of discussion.), Keith hurried to the bathroom. _Oh god please don’t be hickies or some other shit…_

His hand fumbled along the wall until it caught the switch and the lights came on, and Keith choked on air as he looked at his reflection. He turned to the left, dread clenching tighter around his stomach as his eyes looked on more naked skin and the tattoo that now resided there.

_What the fuck went down last night??_


	2. I Guess We're Really Doing This, Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it finally is, the long awaited second chapter.
> 
> Semi-important note: their damn tattoos had me stumped for the longest time, and then I lost my drafts and notes for the next parts. Found them again though. Obviously. This wouldn’t exist otherwise.
> 
> Another note: You've probably noticed the profanity. What can I say, I like using swearing in my works. Keeps things interesting. I try my best to keep it classy though, so at least there's that. Please enjoy! And no worries, there's more to come. Lots more...

“Lance, what the holy fuck did we _do_?!” Keith couldn’t hear Lance’s muffled response between the persistent throbbing in his head. The shock of seeing a splash of red cascading down his shoulder blade seemed to have taken control of his mouth. Despite how painful it was – Keith cringed at how his voice bounced off the walls and slammed into his temples with the force of three consecutive all-nighters – he just _couldn’t shut himself up._ “There’s a _robotic cat on my fucking shoulder_.”

A blue pillow hit the door frame.

“For the love of _Christ, shut up Keith_.”

Keith picked up the pillow as he stumbled out of their shared bathroom. He flung it back at the half naked Lance who was still sprawled out on the bed, hitting him square on the ass. Lance moved his head just enough to give Keith a glare.

“If you wanted to tap that, all you had to do was ask,” Lance grumbled. Keith’s clouded mind reeled at what Lance was insinuating.

As delightful as that fantasy was when he was sober and alone in their room, eager for release and longing for the touch of a guy he was certain he could never actually have… right now he was in multiple levels of pain and desperate for straight answers… or not _straight_ per say… shit, what was _wrong_ with him? He was never drinking again, _ever_.

Keith ignored the flush on Lance’s face and shuffled toward the bed, plopping down on the edge of it with enough force to jostle his roommate. He took a long breath before looking back at Lance, determined to figure out what type of shit-fest his life was obviously becoming.

“Shut up and tell me what happened.”

Lance smirked up at him, hugging a pillow and resting his chin on top of it.

“Can’t do both Keith. Make up your mind. You want me to shut up or do you want me to keep talking?” There was a playful glint in Lance’s eyes and a huskiness to his voice that made Keith squirm in place.

 “How can you just… keep up with that snippy bullshit while _hungover_?” Keith asked, his exasperation growing in sync with Lance’s widening grin.

“Oh, you mean my always charming personality? And this isn’t my first time being hungover.”

Keith groaned and buried his face in his hands. The bed dipped as Lance moved to sit next to him, his bare side pressing against Keith’s. Lance swung his legs back and forth, bumping his foot against Keith’s on every upswing. Eventually the taller boy cleared his throat to speak, but his voice still trembled with the barest hint of nervousness.

“Besides, even if I told you what happened… what would it change? The tattoo is there, mi amigo. Never going away.” Lance’s voice softened at the end, and when Keith finally let his hands drop from his face so he could look at him, he saw that Lance was smiling faintly. Keith grunted and turned away to glare at his neatly made bed across the room. The bed he _should_ have woken up in, just like every other night before…

“Yes, it is,” Keith said.        

“…what?”

Keith took in a deep breath and made a conscious decision to not look over at Lance again. He just couldn’t. He heard the shock in Lance’s voice, and for some reason (definitely not from his attraction to the guy) the sound shot right through his gut and hooked into his heart before giving a vicious tug. It took a surprising amount of effort for Keith to get his next few words out:

“I’m gonna get rid of it.”

The only sound in the room was Lance’s suddenly uneven breathing, and then the words just started spilling out as Keith rushed to fill the silence, his anxiety about his own feelings and the overall situation finally taking over.

“Last night was obviously a mistake. I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk. I don’t even _want_ to remember what happened, I just want it all gone.”

Silence.

Keith sat there, rigid, his hands fisting the blue sheets beneath him. Eventually he could see Lance moving in his periphery, could hear the sound of bare feet meeting the wood floor as Lance slid off the bed. His roommate didn’t say anything, and Keith finally let himself turn to see Lance pull on a shirt – shame to see all that bronze skin disappear – before grabbing a backpack from under his desk. Lance then sat on the floor, pulling on his socks and shoes with more force than was necessary.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. All of it must have been a mistake.” Lance’s voice was…cold. Resigned. Keith could see the anger radiating off of him, he could see it in the way he stood up and swung his backpack on, but his voice sounded almost dead. Like he was too wounded to even care about how angry he was. Keith tried to catch Lance’s eye, he wanted to ask him why he was so upset, but Lance wouldn’t even look at him again.

“I’m going over to Hunk’s. Eat something and drink some water if you want to get rid of that hangover sooner.” Lance grabbed his keys and opened the door, pausing just long enough to throw his usual goodbye over his shoulder before disappearing.

 “See you later, Keith.”

As the door slammed shut, Keith laid back down on Lance’s bed. He searched for some form of comfort against the suddenly wrecked feeling in his heart, but the sheets felt cold. Lance had taken all the warmth of the room with him.

 

 –V–

 

Keith wasn’t typically one to walk around his dorm room in the nude, but these were…special circumstances. Special circumstances being he was so distracted by the thought of Lance’s prolonged absence that when he went to take his usual morning shower, he forgot his towel.

Ah, there it was, glaring red fury at him from its place on his bed. Keith grabbed it and started toweling off his hair, sending droplets of water flying with every movement. Of course with his longer hair, there was only so much a towel could do to dry it. Keith let the damp strands hang around his face and against the nape of his neck as he patted himself dry. He was careful with his right shoulder, just barely pressing the fluffy towel against the still tingling skin. The tattoo was still there, a constant flush against the rest of his creamy skin. A reminder of when Lance walked out the door nearly a week ago and didn’t come back.

Keith did his best to ignore the empty bed on the other side of the room as he got dressed.

 

Sometimes when it became too much, when he really allowed himself to wallow in his misery (most likely self-induced, if he was being honest), he would lie on the blue bedclothes and press his face against Lance’s pillows, inhaling his roommate’s scent as he wished Lance would just walk in and at least _talk to him_ like nothing had happened. Keith only stopped when Lance’s pillows stopped smelling like him.

And seriously, what even _happened?_ They were finally getting somewhere, getting closer, going from awkward roommates to rivals to friends… and then that stupid _stupid_ night that Keith _still_ couldn’t recall.

 

Keith growled and punched one of his pillows. No matter what he did, he couldn’t remember. And no matter how deeply he engrossed himself in his studies, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling downright _lonely_.

_Damn you, Lance. I wasn’t like this before you came into my life._

Keith sighed and rolled the right sleeve of his tee up so he could see part of his tattoo. The red maw of a lion grinned up at him, just barely peeking out from under the fabric. What irked Keith the most wasn’t the fact that it was there; he had gotten over the shock after the second day. What bothered him was the fact that he couldn’t even get a complete view of it. He had no clue what it actually looked like on him, and no amount of stretching and turning in front of a mirror would help. And no matter how much he researched on tattoo removal, he couldn’t find an option that seemed feasible for him. Most techniques sounded too pricey, others were too inconvenient, and some were just…sketchy as hell. Eventually he reached the conclusion that he needed knowledgeable backup. Someone savvy, someone who wouldn’t question him or his life choices too much…

Keith rolled his sleeve back down and picked up his phone. He thumbed through his messages until he came to a dead stop over Lance’s. After a few moments he scrolled past and clicked Pidge’s icon, then pressed the call button.  It only managed to ring once before Pidge answered.

_“Hey, it’s my second-favorite oblivious dumbass.”_

Snark aside, Keith couldn’t help but grin at the sound of Pidge’s voice.

“Usually I’m your first favorite. You’ve been talking to Lance?” Keith asked. The obvious demotion must have been Lance’s fault: Keith hadn’t told Pidge about the tattoo or their platonic breakup (if he could even call it that. Truth be told, he didn’t know _what_ to call their situation).

 _“Mm, more like Lance won’t stop talking to_ me _. What did you need?”_

“You still have that camera I got you?”

_“You mean the late birthday present that I upgraded with my brilliance?”_

Keith let out a huff of laugher.

“You're not gonna let that go, huh?”

_“Never. And of course I still have it, I love it.”_

“You’re welcome. Anyway, mind coming over real quick? I need your help with some…research.”

_“Ooo, sounds sketchy. I’ll be there in five.”_

–V–

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear lord this is so much fun. I love this fic so much and aaaaaaahhh there's so much that's gonna happen... everything is already planned out and determined, it's just a matter of writing it and putting it up, I'm so FREAKING excited. seriously. Help me, this is my own personal hell, thank you for sharing in it by reading this <3
> 
> P.S. Everything I write is unbeta'd, and I get so excited I just slap it on up here. I'll go back through this later and check for errors, though.


	3. And So…the Plot Moves Along…Slowly…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pidge establishes her place in Keith's universe, Keith can't take a selfie to save his life, and some mild chaos ensues behind closed doors.
> 
> Otherwise known as "I suck at moving plot along at a decent pace like a normal human, stab me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE RISEN FROM THE DEPTHS OF COLLEGE & VOLTRON HELL TO GIVE YOU THIS.  
> This... possibly unsatisfying chapter in terms of plot because holy shit, I write a lot. BUT I had fun. It gets crack-ish, fair warning, but seriously. I just loved writing ridiculous things involving Pidge. I love Pidge.
> 
> Pidge.
> 
>  
> 
> Yeah, okay, enjoy. *bow out*

“That was less than five minutes, Pidge. Two, at most.” Keith closed the door as Pidge brushed past him and into the room.

“I was excited and I already had everything on me. Don’t pretend to complain,” Pidge said as she set her backpack down on Keith’s table, effectively taking it over as her temporary workspace.

“Oh really? Were you also sitting right down the hall?” Keith leaned his hip against the edge of his bed, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched Pidge as she took her laptop and camera out, along with some other things. Each piece of equipment was adorned with Pidge’s personal modifications, and he admired how streamlined the altered pieces looked.

“I was in Hunk’s room.”

Pidge’s casual admission jolted Keith out of his reverie.

It was common practice for all four of them to chill in Hunk’s dorm room together (it was a floor below Keith and Lance’s), but it had always been a haven specifically for Lance.

It’s where he went when he was feeling incredibly homesick or unwelcomed anywhere else. And Keith knew for a fact, without even having to ask, that Hunk’s room was where Lance had been taking refuge to effectively avoid Keith during the week. There was still a supply of Lance’s things under Hunk’s bed from last semester, in the time before the great Keith-Lance truce. The thought of Lance sitting on Hunk’s bed, most likely wrapped in Hunk’s ridiculously fluffy blankets, listening to Pidge chatting on the phone with him only a few minutes ago, made Keith’s gut twist painfully. He took a moment to steady his breathing. His pounding heart… well, that couldn’t be helped. Keith almost didn’t want to ask how his roommate was actually doing; he wasn’t sure he could handle the answer.

 “And…Lance?”

“If you really want to know how he is, you need to man up and talk to him yourself.” The edge in Pidge’s voice was unmistakable, but when she turned around to look at him her gaze was surprisingly gentle. “I’m just here to help you with whatever it is you needed.”

Keith raised an eyebrow; he was expecting a bit more of a dressing down for the way he had been acting… or in this case, for secluding himself and not acting at all.

“Really?”

“Yeah. We haven’t seen you in a week, Keith. I get worried.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t just unlock my door and let yourself in to check on me,” Keith said with a smile.

“I’m flattered that you acknowledge my ability to do anything, but it’s called common courtesy. I wouldn’t do that unless you were in trouble or were being an asshole.”

Keith felt himself deflate at that. He stared at the ground, toeing the fluffy blue carpet that stretched across the middle of the room with a socked foot. Lance’s mother had brought it with her the last time she came to check up on her youngest son. The memory was a sweet – and wonderfully awkward – one, and Keith could still feel the warmth of Lance’s grin when he looked at it.

“You’ve talked to Lance, Pidge; you should know that I’ve been an asshole.”

Pidge punched his left arm as hard as she could, and he barely managed to catch himself on the edge of his bed as he stumbled, more from shock than the actual force of the blow. Keith looked at her questioningly. Yes, he probably deserved that, but why did she look so… disappointed? _And frustrated. Get mad at me, Jesus, I deserve some anger here!_ She let out a dramatic sigh, and her features smoothed out before being twisted into a knowing smirk.

“Nah. You’re oblivious as heck, but not an asshole. At least, not intentionally.”

Keith felt relieved, but the way her lips were twisted into that dark, plotting semblance of a smile set him on edge. Pidge must have sensed the questions that were about to pour out of him, because she hurriedly sat on his desk, one leg folded under her while the other dangled off the edge, and snapped her laptop open to cut him off.

“So. Tattoo?”

Keith groaned and dragged himself onto the bed face-first. _Jesus, how much did Lance tell her?_ The sound of her fingers tapping against the keyboard stopped, and when he looked up he was met with her expectant gaze.

He cleared his throat, but unfortunately that did nothing to keep his face from flushing with embarrassment and a tinge of regret.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking up ways to get rid of it, but…”

“Can’t really find anything?” Pidge supplied.

Keith nodded slowly, his chin barely lifting from the red bedding. He groaned again and sat up, just to fall backwards against his collection of pillows, his splayed arms sending a few falling to the floor.

“It’s ridiculous. This whole… _situation,_ is ridiculous. I’ve looked up everything –”

A snort from the direction of the table made him pause and sigh.

“Alright, obviously not _everything_ since _you’re_ here, _mom._ ”

“There’s a good son,” Pidge crooned. Keith shuddered at the unnatural sound but grinned just the same.

“But honestly, I haven’t found anything that even looks _remotely_ safe. I’d like to keep the use of my right arm, thank you.”

There was a full minute of silence before Pidge spoke again, and when she did Keith was surprised by the hesitation in her voice.

“Could I… have a look at it?”

Keith froze up for a few seconds. He hadn’t worn much aside from long sleeves for the past week, and when he did wear something that could expose his shoulders he just made it a point to keep his jacket on. Keith’s face wrinkled in disgust at himself. _Dear god I feel like a public school girl. Covering my shoulders, really? Fucking really?_

But just the thought of it…of the tattoo… made him strangely uncomfortable. The idea of people staring at that one spot on his skin, the attention that flash of red might draw…that fact that people could get a clear view of a part of him that he hadn’t fully seen, much less come to terms with yet…Keith didn’t like the agitated feeling it gave him. He’d never had an issue with his physical appearance before. Hell, Lance had jokingly insisted that _that_ was a bit of a problem, the evidence being the mullet he sported.

_Lance…_

Thinking about his roommate sent Keith’s heart reeling and tripping over its rapid pulse, and he let out a gentle sigh.

_Lance._

“What about Lance?”

Keith sat up to look at Pidge, who was openly staring at him with a grin.

“You said his name just now. Anything you care to share?” Pidge closed the laptop and pushed it a centimeter away to show that she was completely invested in finding out why exactly Keith’s tongue had betrayed him. She was hungry to know the dirty secrets of the whole universe, but the secrets of the current mulleted company would have to suffice.

Keith only glared and started peeling his shirt off, determined to stay focused on the situation at hand. No thinking of his absent roommate any more than was necessary, because _seriously_ , he had to try and get a better handle on his mind and the glaringly obvious gay thoughts that it insisted on having _at the worst possible times._

“Nothing. He’s a dick,” Keith grunted out. His voice was momentarily muffled as he pulled the shirt over his head before he flung it behind him.

“Based on what I can discern from my causal observations, he _has_ a dick…” Pidge said nonchalantly, internalizing a cackle at the sight of Keith’s blush spreading to his chest.

“Whatever.” Keith slid of the bed and turned around, holding his right arm up and out so she could get a full view of the tattoo. He stayed there for some time, eventually resting his right hand at the back of his head when his arm got tired. Pidge hadn’t said a thing since he turned his back to her, and he began to fidget, shuffling from side to side every few seconds.

Shit, there wasn’t something wrong with the tattoo, was there? Was his skin… not doing what tattooed skin should have been doing?

Images that he had scrolled through on the internet suddenly swam in front of his eyes, offering up a number of gross and horrific possibilities that could be on his own back right this fucking minute. It was terrifying.

Keith was about to voice his concerns when he felt a warm breath ghost across the skin right between his shoulder blades. He jolted forward with a screech, then whipped around to see Pidge looking at him worriedly. Despite all the things his imagination conjured up, it was the genuine concern in her expression that almost made his heart stop dead before jumping with panic.

“OKAY, what is it? What’s wrong with my back? Is there a dick? An infection??”

Her lips twitched for a moment, but other than that her expression remained the same. She reached out and grabbed his arms, forcibly turning him back around in her firm grip.

“No, there’s nothing, I’m just looking. Sorry for breaking you, but could ya stay still, please?”

She prodded him between his shoulder blades with a single boney finger, then started to run her finger tips around the right side of his back. Her touch was gentler now, but maintained a consistent pressure. It took him a full minute to realize she was tracing the edges of his tattoo for him, letting him get a feel for just how much skin it stretched across. And damn… that was a _big_ tattoo.

Her fingers slide down, down, down, grazing close to his spine, tracing minute curves and edges, before suddenly curving right and heading for his hip, where it angled down to skirt against his v-line. Pidge’s fingers hit the waistline of his pants, and he looked down to see her slender fingers momentarily covering the trail of red that he was now used to seeing whenever he went to take a piss (or take care of more… _intimate_ business) – it was the end part of the tail of the red feline that lived on his shoulder.

Keith turned his head to look at Pidge, and her expression was so focused, so precise in what she was doing, it gave him chills. She was analyzing the tattoo, and he felt his lips tug into an affectionate smile at the sight. He knew that Pidge’s intensely concentrated expression meant that she was seriously admiring what she was looking at, appreciating it at some mathematic or scientific level that he probably wouldn’t understand.

“Stop being mushy,” Pidge said flatly. “I can feel your dopey smile.” Keith only smiled more.

Her fingers had long since moved upwards to his back, then she traced the tattoo’s edge along the rest of his shoulder. He could feel her body press against his side as she reached up on her tiptoes, her fingers once again briefly coming into view before dipping down his back to complete the physical image. By the end of it, Keith had officially determined that the majority of his back was no longer the same pale shade of skin that his mother had worked nine months to make. He briefly wondered if she would have minded the alterations at all.

“As for your earlier questions, nope, your skin isn’t infected. Perfectly healthy, in fact, Mr. Fucking Flawless Complexion,” Pidge said. Keith felt his heart twinge at her casual usage of one of Lance’s many original names for him. It didn’t sound exactly the same when it came from Pidge, no matter how much he platonically loved her.

“No dick either, from what I could see. Just a giant lion.”

Keith turned around, surprised.

“A lion?”

Pidge’s head titled, her eyebrows furrowing with her own mild surprise. She gestured towards his shoulder, where she was positive that even _he_ could see the feline head.

“Yeah, what did you think it was?” Pidge asked.

“A cat.”

"..."

Pidge didn’t know what she expected of Keith. It was, after all, Keith. She sighed and walked back to the desk where she took her seat.

“Well, you’re not wrong. Honestly though, it looks amazing.” She let him mull that over for a bit while she opened up her laptop, pulling up potentially useful pages of information on tattoo removal.

“I can understand why you wanted help with research – you’re pretty hopeless with these kinds of things. But why the camera?” Pidge asked.

Keith picked up his shirt from the bed but made no move to put it back on. He just fingered at the fabric, then twisted it in his hands as he thought about the main reason why he had asked Pidge to even come over. Maybe it _was_ a ridiculous request, but… he had to see it for himself. Not being able to was killing him.

“I, uh… I wanted to see what it actually looks like.”

There were a few moments of silence as Pidge’s fingers stilled on the keyboard.

“So you don’t know what it looks like.”

“Nope. I still don’t even remember what happened that night, and I can only see parts of it in the mirror. Even then, it looks funny.” Keith glanced over at Pidge, expecting some sort of obviously judgmental expression to be on her face. To his surprise, there wasn’t one. If anything, she looked…well, ‘thoughtful’ was too innocent a word for it. _Conniving_ would be more accurate.

“Have you tried taking a selfie?” It sounded like a damn IT employee’s basic questionnaire, even down to the uninterested tone. Keith knew that was just a ruse though. Deep in his gut of guts, he knew it.  Pidge’s voice was even, but Keith would have sworn on the heads of all her gremlin-spawn brethren that she was on the brink of cackling to herself. The way she had steepled her fingers beneath her chin said it all.

Her eyes roved over his form and she raised an eyebrow, and Keith suddenly realized he had been glaring at her while wringing the faded shirt in his hands. Keith threw his hands up, almost sending the shirt flying.

“Pidge. It’s ME.”

Pidge smirked.

“That’s a no then. Or an admission of failing terribly. Either way, that’s fine.”

The shirt flew across the room, smacking the wall beside her head before falling onto her equipment. Pidge looked unimpressed as she plucked her camera out from underneath it.

“That’s the spirit! Time for your shirtless photo op, Keith. Now tug your pants a little lower and get on the bed.”

Keith’s jaw nearly became unhinged from shock and the color drained from his face. He could feel the regret from all his life choices up to now pooling low in his gut, right about where Pidge patted him for emphasis as she brushed by him.

“Pidge, what the hell—” He was cut off by a sharp tug as she pulled at the belt loops of his jeans.

“Keith, there are two things you need to realize right now. Firstly, as your photographer, I am now your God.” Pidge stood in front of him, reaching up to alter with the way his bangs fell in his face as he looked down at her in complete horror.

“I’m an Athei—”

“ _Secondly_ , as your closest friend, you know I can make your life Hell. So you really should listen to me anyway.”

Keith gave a long sigh and began following her physical directions, letting his pants slide down just enough to give more of a view for the tail end of the tattoo.

 _And my v-line, and my briefs…_ Keith could feel himself blushing as her fingers tussled his mullet and sorted out seemingly random strands of hair.

“Pidge, is this really necessary?” Keith wanted to wince at how _whiney_ he sounded. Pidge snorted and gave him a gentle push towards the bed, which he obediently climbed onto.

“I swear to me, you’re so oblivious it hurts.” She had a fond little smirk on her face, and the way it eased his worries – freaking typical – almost pissed him off.

“Just trust me Keith. I have total confidence in the theory behind what I’m planning.”

Keith rolled his eyes but made no other argument, deciding for the nth time in his life that it would be best just to ride out the merciless wave that was Pidge “You’ll Thank Me Later” Gunderson.

 

 

– V –

 

 

If he was honest with himself, Keith was totally relieved to be taking directions from someone who had known him the longest, even they had some unknown ulterior motive. _I mean, come on, why_ else _would I be sprawling on Lance’s bed now?_

Pidge had made him move to Lance’s side of the room about a half hour ago, muttering something about how “the windows are all on your side, so the lighting is shitty. I need to see your face.”

 

~V~

 

“You don’t need to see my face; all I need to see is the damned tattoo! Besides, my face is all red!” Keith had clung to his bed-frame, but Pidge had his leg in a vice grip and refused to let go. She had pulled at him again, determined to pry him off it.

“Exactly,” she had muttered darkly.

“PIDGE.”

“OBEY YOUR GOD, DAMMIT.”

 

~V~

                   

The sound of her camera shutter brought him back to the present with a sigh.

_Still, it could be worse. At least I have my pants on._

Keith chuckled dryly. He sensed a recurring theme in his life that probably wasn’t going to die off anytime soon.

Despite how done he was with this “photo op,” Keith followed Pidge’s every command, even the ones that made him blush to the roots of his dark hair. She caught it all, of course. Her and that damn camera that snapped photos faster than he could blink. Now that he thought about it, it was those awkward-as-hell moments that Pidge seemed to enjoy the most…

“On your stomach! Arch for it!”

 _Wait, arch for_ what _?_ Keith’s mind was scrambling for answers even as his body rolled over on Lance’s bed, the blue blankets wrinkling under him.

_Maybe this isn’t entirely worth it…_

 “You’ll thank me later,” Pidge said with a grin as she lifted the camera again.

 

 

            – V –

 

 

It was over an hour later, and they were still going at it. Keith had no intention of thanking her.

“Pidge, do I really have to be sitting in the damn _sink?”_

“You’re not in the sink, you’re on the bathroom counter.”

Keith took in a deep breath, trying not to snap at so tiny a detail that _somehow managed to piss him off more than he could currently understand._

“Okay yeah, but _why?_ ”

“I’m using the mirror! It’s artistic! Keith, you want a good picture of it or not?”

“But we’ve been at this forever, there has to be a few good pictures already!”

Pidge waved a dismissive hand in his direction as the other one fiddled with the camera’s settings.

“You’ve got no imagination. Just shut up and trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Keith gave a petulant huff, then tried to get comfortable in the pose Pidge had physically placed him in. Seriously, why did he have to have one arm up and resting behind his head? The forced stretch made his torso feel so… _exposed._

Keith looked down at himself and realized that his abs weren’t the only things on obvious display: his nipples had hardened in the ridiculously chilled room. Keith didn’t feel like he had enough energy to blush again at this point. He was too desensitized by Pidge’s newly discovered eccentric-photographer side.

“Fine. But this is the last one,” Keith grumbled. “I want to put a shirt on after this.”

“Why?”

“It’s cold…” Keith’s voice trailed off as Pidge looked him over. When she noticed the two reasons Keith wanted a shirt, she smirked, and Keith knew he was so, _so_ screwed. Again. _Dammit._

“Oh _hell_ no, you’re not putting a shirt on.” She declared, running out of the bathroom. Keith was frozen in his spot on the sink counter, his heart in his throat as he wondered what new horror awaited him.

He felt the compelling urge to scream when he heard her fiddling with the AC, and he gave in to it when he felt the temperature plummet a few moments later.

“Pidge WHAT THE _FUCK_ ”

“YOU’LL THANK ME LATER.”

 

 

            – V –

 

 

The moment Pidge said they were done, Keith ran to his bed and dove under the blankets for warmth.

“Geez, so dramatic. Here, put this on.” Pidge plucked his favorite sweatshirt from its place in the closet and threw it at him. Keith caught it and dragged it under the blankets, glaring at her as he managed to slide it on without leaving his cocoon.

Pidge cradled her laptop and camera in her arms, and used her foot to scoot a chair next to the bed. She used it as a stepping stool to climb onto the bed before sitting cross-legged by his feet.

“So,” Keith sat up, letting his blankets pool in his lap. “Can I see them now?”

“Just a second,” Pidge said, hooking up her camera to the laptop. A few moments later she unplugged the camera and handed it to Keith. “There ya go.”

Keith snatched it up and began flicking through the pictures eagerly. He tried to ignore the smug grin on Pidge's face as she watched him.

As he went through them, he started to forget that Pidge was even sitting next to him. So far each picture had turned out…well, great. Amazing, even. It was surreal, remembering the hassle and uncomfortableness of it all, but at the same time seeing what looked like a fucking professional model gaze back at him from the screen. The shirtless-Keith in these pictures actually looked like he felt comfortable, and it made Keith snort. _Because that’s_ not _what my ass is feeling right now._

“Gotta hand it to ya, Pidge. You know how to make me look natural.”

Pidge laughed.

“I thought this wasn’t about you. Didn’t you _just_ want to see the tattoo?”

Keith flushed but didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking at her. “You know what I mean.”

“Keep scrolling through, it gets better,” she promised. In the back of Keith’s head, it sounded like a warning. His thumb started clicking through the rest of the pictures before Keith could stop himself, and what he saw totally floored him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! You know the drill guys. More is coming, I seriously am so excited to share it with you all. Enjoy the light heartedness now, while you can...


	4. We Need More Hunk in All Our Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Save me from myself. This is becoming more of a slowburn than I planned for I am so sorry guys.
> 
> I'm not all that confident in the pace of the plot itself, but I can feel things speeding up in the next chapter. Thank you for bearing with me so far.

Pidge smirked when she realized that Keith was effectively stuck in place, his fingers curled tightly around the camera as his eyes roved over the screen. She couldn’t see it from this angle, but figuring out which picture he was gaping at was easy, thanks to a precise memory that terrified even her older brother.

_I guess Matt’s gay rambles about back muscles was worth filing away after all._

 

She decided to let Keith stew a bit longer in “private” … meaning she just stayed quiet and turned her attention to the computer screen. There was one folder in the corner of her desktop she was looking for: “Quantum Physics.” A completely cheesy title that Lance would appreciate if it’s intended function as Lance-repellent wasn’t so effective. He had no idea what was actually in the folder, and based on every cringe and face he pulled when his eyes passed over it, Lance would _never_ find out. The folder’s contents were always changing anyway, depending on what Pidge was scheming.

She opened it up and started sorting through each saved file and cryptically-labeled folder, reviewing them for what had to have been the 43rd time this week. Every piece of information in “Quantum Physics” was tattoo-related, from “Care of” to “Designs” to “Removal.”

Pidge transferred the pictures of Keith into an empty folder, then buried that folder in yet another one, and so on. Each layer was labeled in such a way that unless you were Pidge or Hunk, you wouldn’t be able to decipher the trail of labels to find the images, much less get past the encryption to open them (because Pidge couldn’t function without a healthy amount of paranoia and folderception).

Pidge glanced over at Keith again, just to see he was still staring at the image. She reigned in a sigh and looked at him closely. The shock seemed to have worn off. Now there was just… awe. A grin tugged at her mouth and she turned back to the computer. As adorable as he was to watch, she had to keep the ball rolling. Plus she kinda wanted her camera back.

“So, tattoo removal…” Pidge said. She clicked on several files, opening webpages that she hadn’t had time to peruse through yet. “Huh, this one actually looks legit. _And_ affordable.”

When she turned to see Keith still lost in his mind, she reached over and smacked him on his left shoulder. The camera finally lowered from his face and he turned toward her, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” he asked. Pidge sighed through her nose and pointed at her computer.

“Tattoo removal. It’s at a tattoo parlor run by some guy named…” she peered at the screen. “…Shiro? Wow, the reviews are really good. Employee information…” Pidge clicked the link, then jolted backwards when the page loaded.

 _Keith’s brain is gonna melt if he sees this guy’s_ arms _holy cow_.

“DAMN, okay, _wow_ he’s hot. If you go anywhere, you _need_ to go there. Understand?”

Another look at Keith revealed that no, he did not understand. Primarily because he wasn’t paying attention. The camera was resting on his lap in a loose grip, but his eyes were unfocused, his mind someplace Pidge couldn’t quite reach. Annoying, but not cause for concern: she could out-gay Matt’s thoughts and put put them into words _just_ so he’d focus on the real world (mostly to blush and tell her to shut up). There was yet to be a day when she couldn’t handle Keith.

“You want me to send you Shiro-hottie’s number? Bet he has a voice like velvet,” Pidge said as she nudged him. “Perfect material for your future wetdreams.”

Keith’s gaze zeroed back in on Pidge, just to flick away at the sight of her smirk.

 _So innocent, this one…_ she thought.

“I’ll think about it,” Keith muttered.

Pidge was about to make a quip about thought processes and gorgeous men when Keith spoke again, his words coming out in a rush.

“I might actually keep the tattoo. I mean it looks great as it is, and it’s still healing, and the last thing I want to do is fuck up my arm. And I just…it _almost_ looks like Lance’s…”

Pidge had gone rigid beside him, not daring to breathe.

_Oh please please please put the dots together, holy shit put it together, oh my GOD if this is the gay epiphany I’ve been working towards for two friggin’ years –_

Keith opened his mouth, and Pidge learned what it felt like to choke on non-air.

“Could you send this one to my phone?”

He held the camera out, the screen facing her. As if she didn’t already know what image he was talking about. His eyes were hard, his features set in determination, making sure that she knew _this is the one and only one I request, I desire none of your trickery, devil child._

Pidge could feel her brain pop.

 _FUCK. KEITH, WHY? Fucking so fucking close to just uuuuuuuuggggghhhhaaaaaaaaaaaafuck. Fine. It’s fine. He didn’t finish saying_ anything _, but that’s fine. He might have thought about it, all I need is for that thought to exist in his mind…_

She did as he asked but the mental grumbling continued. Only slightly. Living with this boy was slowly killing her.

For a moment, Pidge found herself revisiting a fantasy that plagued her almost daily: maybe she could throw all current scheming aside in favor of building a telepathic device that would enable her to peek into his brain while simultaneously screaming her thoughts into his, just to give him a taste of the mental hell he put her through. No, that wouldn’t work. His mind would go into overload. Maybe some kind of helmet that projected images? That’s what this dummy needs, _images_. He needs to actually _SEE the hell I deal with._

When the fantasy had run its course, she felt calmer. Pidge checked to make sure the image had reached its destination, then closed the laptop. She turned to Keith with a grin.

“All done.”

 

 

– V –

 

 

Keith was lying on a ledge in the courtyard, his bag and thickest sweater giving his skull and spine some cushioning from the stones’ ragged surface. The flow of students on the walkways had slowed since classes started. Only a few stragglers milled about, and some (like himself) were just waiting out their in-between-classes break.

While everyone else was muttering their thanks to deities that the week was almost over, Keith felt anxious about the coming weekend. All thanks to a little promise he had made to a certain someone…

Keith stared up at his phone, his eyes locked on the single image that he had asked Pidge to send him yesterday. He had been staring at it every chance he got.

A notification from Hunk managed to draw his attention away from the picture.

_Speak of the devil._

Keith swiped a thumb across it, opening the message thread.

 

**H:** _So you’re definitely coming tomorrow, right?_

 

Keith sat up so he wouldn’t run the risk of dropping his phone and breaking it like a dumbass as he responded.

 

 **K:** Yeah, don’t worry man.

 **H:** _You’re asking for the impossible._

 

Keith smiled. It was true that Hunk was a bit of a worrier by nature, but based on the frequency and content of his latest messages, he was more worried than usual. Keith figured that something else had to be going on with his friend. He only hesitated a second before drafting another message and sending it off.

 

 **K:** You sound kinda nervous. Is something else bothering you?

**H:** _What?_

**H:** _What are you talking about? I’m fine._

**H:** _Do I not sound fine?_

 

 _Yup,_ Keith thought. _Something’s up. You suck at hiding things, Hunk._

 

 **K:** I know you said you your crush was gonna be there, but man, you’ve got it bad

 **H:** _?_

 

Keith’s eyebrows raised at Hunk’s immediate reaction. He waited for a few minutes to see if Hunk would send anything else.

 

 **H:** _Well I mean they’re really special so of course I’m like this. Which is why I’m making sure that you’ll be with me tomorrow. Moral support!_

 

Keith looked at the text for a while, thinking over the fact that he rarely played wingman in any scenario. That was always Lance’s job, no matter how annoyingly flirtatious and dorky he could be. Keith suspected something else was going on; Lance was never too busy to go somewhere and fuck around, especially when he had assignments to do.

_But I wouldn’t exactly know what’s up with him, now would I._

On a whim, Keith pounded out another message and sent it on its way.

 

 **K:** I feel like you should have asked Lance instead. You know I’m shit with people.

 

Keith groaned and put the phone down next to him. He dragged his hands down his face, resisting the urge to punch himself. Repeatedly.

_Geez Keith, why not say how you’re really feeling. Just tell the world that you’re a crappy person who couldn’t keep a simple friendship together with the second most important person in your life._

A broken laugh escaped Keith’s lips as he realized that _he_ was the one who actually needed a wingman of sorts. Maybe he should ask Hunk if they could switch places…

His phone vibrated against the stones, the noise grating against the peaceful atmosphere of the campus. Keith picked it up, eager to see what Hunk had said in reply.

 

**H:** _I can barely drag Lance out of bed anymore. It’d be hell trying to get him to come along to a damn party._

 

Keith felt a definite pang in his chest at that. He racked his brain, trying to find a suitable reply when Hunk sent another message.

 

**H:** _Ah shit, sorry. Shouldn’t have said anything._

**K:** It’s fine.

 **K:** I like hearing about him, actually. How is he?

 **H:** _He’s being a bum and mooching off of me_.

 **H:** _In other words, the usual. He’s doing okay, Keith._

 

Keith smiled. Leave it to Hunk to instantly understand his concerns and try to ease them. The group used to call Hunk a mother hen because of that, until Lance pointed out that Mama Duck sounded more appropriate. It was one of the times that Lance Logic just happened to make sense.

 

 **H:** _Although you really should talk to the dude. He doesn’t do well when he thinks he’s lost a friend. Especially when it’s you._

Keith actually laughed at that. _Yeah, definitely a Mama Duck._ He decided to ignore how that last bit made his heart skip a beat as typed his response.

 

 **K:** I’ll talk to him the next time I see him.

**H:** _I’m holding you to that._

**K:** But I don’t know when that’ll be.

 **H:** _Sooner than you think._

 

He couldn’t ignore how his heart was pounding now. He hadn’t seen the barest trace of Lance for days. Even the Cuban’s beloved social media platforms hadn’t been updated in a week. It was like Lance just disappeared from the world, determined to hide himself away from Keith. The thought of seeing him again filled Keith’s chest with both elation and terror.

 

 **K:** What’s that supposed to mean?

 

Keith’s foot tapped against the side of the stone ledge as he waited for a reply.

 

**H:** _I’ll see you tonight, Keith._

**K:** Hunk?

**H:** _That’s all I’m saying_

**H:** _No take-backs!_

**K:** HUNK.

 

Keith felt panic rising in his throat as a new thought struck him.

 

 **K:** Is this Pidge? Pidge I swear to god if you’re using Hunk’s phone to trick me into something I will end you, you gremlin spawn.

 **H:** _What? No, dude it’s me. Nice insult though, I’m gonna save that._

 **H:** _Also, I thought you were an Atheist LOL_

 

Keith was only slightly relieved at that. He still couldn’t help but feel that he had been roped into doing something, even if he was only talking to Hunk.

 

 **K:** That just means there will be no god to save you from me

 **H:** _Christ, man. Dark._

**H:** _You’re lucky I’m not Pidge. I’d turn that into a kink joke you could never live down._

**K:** Stfu already. Don’t you have class?

 

Keith lay back down, searching for a mildly comfortable ridge in the stone, when his phone vibrated again. He nearly fell off the ledge when he read the new message.

 

**H:** _Yeah, the same class as you, moron. Why aren’t you here?_

 

_SHIT._

Keith pocketed the phone and rolled off the ledge. Moments later he was shoving his crap into his bag, then trying to stick his arms through tangled sweater sleeves as fast as he could. When he finally got sorted enough to make a run for class, he pulled out his phone. Hunk had rightly interpreted Keith’s radio silence for a panicked hustle.

 

**H:** _Haha. Teach you to be mean to me. I was going to say something earlier but I decided not to :P_

 

Keith chuckled with what breath he could spare as he ran, and quickly texted back.

 

 **K:** You’ve been hanging out with Pidge too much.

**H:** _Oh and you don’t? Don’t run and text, Keith. It’s dangerous. I raised you better._

**H:** _Better hurry dude, you got two mins._

**H:** _I think I hear the prof down the hallway…_

**H:** _Yeah, you are soooo gonna be late… that’s twenty points off dude!_

 

Each glance at his phone made Keith run faster. He wove through crowds of students on the walkways when he could, but otherwise cut straight across the grass.

 _Like hell I’ll be late. Class will be freaking_ canceled _before_ I’m _late._

 

 

– V –

 

 

“What…the fuck…Hunk…” Keith panted, chest heaving, as he stood in the hallway with who he had _thought_ was his friend. Hunk was laughing so hard he was wheezing, barely able to catch a breath before Keith’s bewildered expression made him laugh even harder. The lecture hall they were standing outside of was empty.

“You…. You didn’t…” Hunk’s words drowned in a stream of giggles. “You didn’t read the email this morning?”

Keith threw his left arm out towards the classroom, and let his bag slip from his right shoulder. It landed on his foot, but he was too preoccupied by this blatant betrayal of trust to care.

“NO, Hunk, I didn’t read any freaking email.”

“Well I guess I should let you know, then.” Hunk straightened and cleared his throat, his expression turning impressively neutral – even though his face was still flushed. “The prof. emailed this morning. He had to take his wife to the doctor, so class is canceled.” Hunk managed to hold in his mirth until the very end, then broke down laughing even harder than before. Keith was almost impressed.

Hunk hugged his side with one arm and reached out to Keith with the other. Keith sidestepped as the other man walked towards him, letting the wall take his place as a support. Hunk stumbled against it and ended up sliding down to the floor. Keith just looked on as his “friend” melted into the largest self-satisfied puddle of giggles and snorts he had ever seen.

_He’s worse than Pidge sometimes…_

“I should disown you for this,” Keith said as he finally sat down beside him.

“Whatever makes you feel better.” Hunk wiped at teary eyes with the heel of his hand, removing the last traces of treachery from his person as he finally settled down. “What were you doing anyway? You’re _always_ in class before me.”

Keith shrugged. “I was busy looking at something.”

“Mhmm. Some _thing_ or some _one_?” Hunk asked. He cozied up against Keith, obviously settling in for some kind of story. Keith huffed a laugh and let his head fall back against the wall.

“It’s not what you think, Hunk. I was looking at myself.”

“Ah. Working through the internalized struggle of life?”

“Kind of? Here, let me just show you.” Keith’s phone had been in his hand this time, and now he unlocked it and brought it close to Hunk’s face.

“ _Finally_. I was wondering if I was gonna need to ask…”

Hunk trailed off when he saw the image. The hall was silent for a long while, until Hunk let out a low whistle and took the phone, gently cradling it in his powerful hands.

“Ho-ly crap. That’s you?” Hunk asked, his voice hushed.

Keith hugged his knees to his chest and let his chin rest between his forearms, effectively turning himself into a human ball curled into Hunk’s left shoulder.

 “Yeah. It’s weird, huh?” Keith asked quietly.

“Weird? No way, this is _hot_. Like, at _least_ ten different kinds of hot. Maybe twenty if I stare at it long enough.” Hunk’s voice rose back to a normal level in his certainty. He squinted at the picture, taking in every detail he could. Keith snorted and shook his head.

“Gee thanks Hunk. But I’m talking about the tattoo.”

“So am I,” Hunk said, completely serious. “Nothing weird about it, just… _damn_. He did an amazing job designing this. It fits you perfectly.” Hunk handed the phone back to Keith, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen until Keith turned it off. When Hunk looked back up at his friend, he saw a troubled frown had taken residence in Keith’s features.

“That’s just it! The _design._ ” Keith ran a frantic hand through his hair, tangling it with his fingers. Hunk could practically see the questions crowding in Keith’s eyes before his bangs fell back to veil his face. Hunk couldn’t bring himself to push it away (in both the literal and figurative sense), but in moments like these, he knew he wouldn’t have to. Keith just needed time. As much time as Hunk was willing to give. Luckily for everyone, Hunk was a steady, patient man.

“You know Lance’s work better than anyone,” Keith finally continued, turning to face Hunk. “Don’t you think it’s weird that the tattoo’s style _looks like his?_ ”

Hunk stuck the tip of his tongue between his teeth, biting down gently as he pretended to consider the question.

After heated discussion with Pidge, it had been decided that letting Lance explain things to Keith would be the best option for everybody. Of course, it was Pidge’s idea to have Hunk maneuver Keith while Pidge focused on Lance. Something about “less suspicion, they won’t expect it,” she had said.

 _You better be right, Pidge,_ Hunk thought.

“Weird? No. How would that be weird?” Hunk asked.

“Lance doesn’t make things like this, much less for tattoos,” Keith explained to Hunk, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “I live with Lance; I’ve seen what he draws.”

Hunk allowed himself a sigh and held up two fingers on his right hand.

“Two things, Keith.” Hunk pointed to the first finger. “One: you don’t know everything about the guy. You know a lot because he tends to overshare, sure, but not everything. And two,” Hunk continued, pointing to the second finger. “If it reminds you of Lance, how is that a bad thing? He’s _really_ talented.”

Keith turned away and went quiet, lost in his mind again until Hunk spoke, quieter this time.

“Or do you just want the tattoo gone that badly?”

 Keith curled into a tighter ball against Hunk’s side at the question, his face a battlefield of emotions. Hunk had never seen his friend look so vulnerable. The sight tore at his heart, and it took everything Hunk had in him to keep himself from scooping Keith into bear hug that would last until the world turned into a kinder place. Or at least until Keith and Lance stopped being such idiots and just _kissed already_.

 “It’s just that every time I look at it, I think of him.” Keith’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “And I don’t know what to think about that.”

 _Ah fuck it. You need a hug,_ Hunk decided. He flung an arm around Keith’s shoulders and drew him closer into his side. Keith went rigid for a few seconds of surprise before relaxing against him.

“Maybe stop thinking?” Hunk asked with a smile. Keith scoffed and shook his head, and just like that, Keith seemed to be back to his old self. He didn’t move away though, and Hunk took that as a sign of progress.

“Would you ask _Pidge_ to stop thinking?” Keith asked.

“I beg her but she doesn’t listen.”

“That’s fair.”

“Sounds to me like you’re missing him.”

“Who, Lance? A bit,” Keith admitted. The walls were back in place, it seemed, but at least there were windows now.

“Mmm. Let’s get something to eat before the party starts,” Hunk said as he gave Keith one last squeeze before standing.

“Hunk that’s like… over six hours away.” Keith tugged at his sleeve to stare pointedly at his bare wrist, making Hunk laugh.

“I know. The suspense alone is enough to kill a man, but I’m more worried about my palate.”

Hunk helped Keith stand and gather up their things as they spoke.

“I thought you said there’d be food,” Keith said as he handed Hunk’s bag to him.

“I just said that because I know you’re not picky. You’re like a machine, just making energy out of whatever you can conceivably eat and not die from.” Hunk surveyed the area at their feet, checking for any forgotten items before they walked out of the building. “But me? I don’t trust _anyone’s_ kitchen when it’s operated by drunks. If I’m going to stuff myself beforehand, I gotta start _now_.”

 

 

– V –

 

 

_P: Please tell me he’s figured it out…_

_H: No dice yet. But the tattoo reminds him of Lance_

_P: Wtf does that mean?? Does he remember or not?_

_H: I don’t think he does, but he recognizes Lance’s art when he sees it._

_P: So he’s finally putting two and two together_

_H: We’ll see. He’s getting friendlier with his emotions, I think._

_H: You’re sure Lance is going tonight?_

_P: Oh yeah._

_H: Are you sure it’s not just better to tell Keith ourselves?_

_P: Nope. See you at the party, Hunk._

_H: If I live through it, sure. See ya._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next chapter! Actual interaction between the two piners themselves!
> 
> Will they fight?  
> Will they make love?
> 
> Only time will tell. But there will be cuddles and pancake apologies.
> 
> If you want to rant, you know where to find me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first Klance fic! Feel free to share your thoughts on the story, and/or leave a message on my tumblr
> 
> All the feels are welcome here, along with screaming, crying, and yelling at me for giving you said feels.
> 
> (Not that I regret it at all.)


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